


your body's an ocean (the waves are closing in on me)

by Lorrayne



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fingerfucking, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, bottom!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorrayne/pseuds/Lorrayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dinner's gonna take a while to cook, so harry finds a way to pass the time</p>
            </blockquote>





	your body's an ocean (the waves are closing in on me)

**Author's Note:**

> title from "side to side" by tyler carter

“needs a little more salt,” louis critiques from where he’s sat on the counter next to the stove, popping a sugarcube from the open dish into his mouth. he drops one into the pot of sauce that harry’s stirring as an afterthought, and harry frowns a little in disapproval (louis has a bit of an overly prominent sweet tooth)

“you need more salt,” he quips, which is a mistake, maybe, because louis’s right back with, “then give me somethin’ salty, big boy…” all twitchy, arched eyebrows and mischievous little smirk.

harry smiles, shakes his head fondly, dips his finger into the sauce, lifts it to his lips, tastes. more salt, he agrees, so he adds it and flips the burner down to let it simmer while he checks the chicken. he can see, peripherally, louis dipping the tip of his finger in again, sucking it clean, dipping, sucking, and he reaches up to pinch the skin of a thigh between his own fingers.

“hey!” louis squeaks, and kicks out in retaliation. harry chuckles at him, wraps his fingers around louis’s ankle, and holds it against his own thigh as he covers the sauce, turning down the oven temp so everything can cook slow and come together.

louis’s lighting up his pipe again by the time harry looks over; taking a deep pull of thick smoke, lashes fluttering, and his eyes flit up to meet harry’s. they’re glassy, lazy, unbelievably blue. sexy. more so than usual.

harry steps closer, between bare knees, leans in to press his lips to licked damp, cool-feeling ones, and inhales when louis exhales. it makes him feel dizzy, breathing louis in like this. louis makes him dizzy. his eyes flutter shut, vision full of blue until it’s nothing but black, and their lips part just long enough for harry to blow smoke out between them. his hand slides up louis’s calf, into the crease of his knee where his fingers stroke soft like a whisper, and louis shudders. he plants his other hand next to louis’s hip against cold granite, slots their lips together again, but this time he’s chasing the promise of something other than musky smoke.

louis kisses the complete opposite of how he speaks. his lips move slow, contemplative; his tongue: languid and thorough. he breathes hot out his nose against harry’s skin and it makes harry hungry for more quick, heated breath. he wants to make louis gasp for air. the tip of his tongue teases louis’s, the roof of his sweet mouth, his chilled lips.

there it is. the hitch in louis’s breath; the soft click of glass-on-granite as louis discards the pipe and slides a hand up into the hair at the back of harry’s head. the opposite hand clenches at the middle of harry’s back, bunching up the cotton of his t-shirt, chilly air breezing over his hot skin in time with his tongue licking back into louis’s scorching mouth.

there are legs encircling his hips, locking behind his arse, pulling him close. harry uses his grip at louis’s knee for leverage, slides him to the edge until the only space left between them is the layer of louis’s pants, tight and dark blue, stretched over days of sunny skin, and the material of harry’s boxers.

they’re so close, nothing between them but thin material and the thickness of both their cocks pressed together.

harry loves how full louis feels against him- his thighs all soft and warm and so solid under the smooth of his hands when he grips the sides of louis’s knees and feels all the way up. it’s hot and insistent and completely unplanned, and that has harry even hotter, rocking his hips forward into louis and then-

and then louis’s hands are at harry’s chest, pushing him away, and harry’s stumbling back the couple of steps before he’s blinking at louis, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“what…?” he starts, but louis’s slipping down off the counter, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, stalking toward harry and pushing him down into an open chair.

harry falls with a soft, “oof” and wide eyes, staring at louis, asking for some sort of explanation. he doesn’t get one. instead, he gets louis in his lap, thighs astride his own, hands on his shoulders and thumbs digging into his collarbones. and that’s. that’s good, too. he cups his hands over the backs of louis’s thighs, kneading the soft skin there, pressing his fingertips into the fleshy, fatty places. they’re his favourite, because louis’s eyelids droop, his breath catches, and he presses back into the touch.

louis’s fingers curl under the collar of harry’s t-shirt, stretching the material out enough that the soft pads of them graze over his skin, and he leans back in to kiss harry again, more urgent.

harry’s fingers slide up, over the crease of louis’s thighs where they meet his bum. they trace the hem of his pants, where the seam covers one cheek but has ridden up over the other, and harry’s cock twitches in interest. such a silly little thing to arouse him, but it does- the way louis’s pants stretch over his hot little arse and tuck up over the cheeks. he slips his fingers under the material, gets his hands full and squeezes, and louis’s knees give a little, momentarily.

louis licks into harry’s mouth, makes an insistent little noise, nails scratching the jut of sharp collarbones. it’s slick and hot, and harry can’t help the way he instantly sucks louis’s sharp little tongue back into his mouth and traces his fingers up the crack of his bum.

louis’s hips drop into harry’s, pressing back into his touch, and harry uses his grip to pull the cheeks apart; tease his finger over louis’s hole slow enough to feel the little flutter of muscle against the tip of it.

louis presses his forehead against harry’s, parts their lips, and breathes out hot against harry’s face.

“c’mon,” he whispers, urgent, back arching dramatically to put the pressure of harry’s fingertip back against where he needs it.

harry just smirks. “you want it?” he whispers; cheeky, teasing.

louis groans and reaches a hand back, pressing his palm over the back of harry’s, two of his fingers over one of harry’s, keeping it there so he can rock against it.

“yes. yes,” he breathes, and harry lets his breath out in a groan, mouth searching out the pulse in louis’s neck. he finds it and bites, elicits a raw, desperate, “p l e a s e” and yeah.  _yeah._

“need to get you wet, lou,” harry breathes out, breath hot on louis’s neck. he rubs the pads of two fingers quick over the tensing muscle again, promising, and then grips louis’s thighs; stands.

the bedroom’s all the way down the hall. the living room is at least 20 paces. the kitchen table is only just over 5. it also conveniently happens to be where harry’s wallet is. harry likes to come prepared. additionally, harry likes to be prepared to make louis come. so.

five quick steps and louis’s perched on the edge of the table, harry caught between his thighs and hell if that’s not harry’s favourite fucking place on earth (let him build a home there, he’d be happy)

their mouths slot together again as harry’s hands search blindly for the leather of his wallet on louis’s table. it’s cool to the touch, and he knows exactly where to slip his fingers in- which pockets have the little sachets of lube, which have condoms, which have receipts for both. they’re only really using one lately, though. (“…i’m clean, i know you’re clean, let me feel you…” and who’s harry to say no to that?)

he finds what he needs, discards it next to louis’s hip, then works on sucking louis’s tongue back into his mouth. it’s wet, messy, dirty; more tongue than lips, more spit than kiss. he hitches louis forward like before, arse on the edge of the table, hands under his knees to hold them up, legs apart. he nips louis’s lip, neck, collarbone, hooks his fingers under the elastic of the stretched-out pants louis wears, and pulls them off as he sinks to his knees.

louis watches, eyebrows all curiously quirked up as harry grips his ankles and pushes his feet up until his heels catch on the edge of the table and he’s wide open, all exposed and pretty. all tan except for the insides of his thighs, and where he’s spread open. and fuck. the skin there gradually turns from the sunny caramel colour everywhere else into a creamier tan around the soft pink of his hole.

harry wants to devour him.

he noses along the inside of one thigh, feeling the soft skin give under his touch. louis’s not firm there like he is everywhere else. harry fucking loves it. there are light freckles scattered over his skin; stretch marks, dark pink and shiny white lines that spider out from the joint of his thigh and pelvis. harry traces them with his tongue, buries his face in and sucks a dark bruise just for louis. he pushes his face in deeper, suckling at the inside of a cheek, nibbling there.

then he goes for it. he presses his lips to louis’s taint- kisses, licks up it until he’s lapping gently at the velvety skin of his balls. he smells like the shower they took together earlier; like woodsy soap and the hour-old musky scent of boy. louis squirms underneath him, and harry can hear the soft sigh he lets out at the contact. he noses back down the tight skin of his perineum, licks, teases the tip of his tongue along louis’s rim and louis whines, “ _harry._ ”

harry hums against louis, flattens his tongue and licks a lazy stipe over him; feels the way he’s twitching for it already. he’s just begun. he grips louis’s ass, pulls him apart, flicks his tongue over once, twice, then dives in. it’s just flat and wet for a while, messy and slow because that’s what makes louis really get into it. he arches his back off the table and slaps his palms down against the wood and groans, and harry’s cock thickens in his pants.

he points his tongue in and teases louis’s hole a bit. it’s just soft stabs, swirls around the rim. then louis’s fingers curl around the edge of the table and he shoves himself down and yeah, yeah, that’s what harry’s been waiting for. he licks into louis’s wet arsehole, tongue teasing in and out, loosening him up until louis’s rocking, riding down on harry’s face to make him grab louis’s hips and shove his face in, tongue fucking him like he’s been asking for.

harry’s hard, aching, leaking. he knows it. he always is when he’s eating louis out, because it’s the hottest fucking thing, the way he needs it. the way he’s breathless and desperate for penetration. the way, like now, he has a hand fisted in harry’s hair, pulling him closer while harry sucks at his rim and licks him open. harry thinks he could spend hours with his face buried in louis’s arse if it meant this.

louis’s thighs are quivering, breath coming in loud gasps, and faintly harry can hear the soft pull of skin-on-skin. he reaches up and knocks louis’s hand away from his cock; wraps his own around and squeezes once and louis comes. fuck, he comes so hard that his whole body jerks, back arched up like something’s pulling from his middle, and when harry raises his head to look up louis’s body, his head’s thrown back, skin all flushed pink, hands fisted in the shirt all rucked up under his chest. his breath is stuttery, forced out in little huffs with the contractions in his stomach. he raises his head for just a moment, eyes meeting harry’s, and oh.  _oh_.

they’re wet, a little red, and his eyelashes are sticking together. there are little tear tracks running from the corners down over his temples. his head thumps back against the table, eyes blinking closed, and harry stands, noses at louis’s belly where it’s soft, right under his bellybutton, where the come is cooling in a little pool. he kisses just under them hem of louis’s shirt and then leans over him, kisses his damp neck, his jaw.

“y’alright, angel?” he coos, kisses the hair at his temple that’s wet from sweat and tears. louis turns his face into harry’s neck, warm but for the tip of his little nose, and harry can feel the smile against his shoulder when louis nods.

“just feels good,” he whispers, “overwhelming.” and harry nods. he knows it’s almost too much sometimes (louis’s so sensitive, it never ceases to amaze him)  and he kisses the salty tears away from louis’s ear.

louis shifts under him, a hand coming up to card through the back of his hair, and harry thinks maybe that’s that and they’re done for now (he doesn’t mind, it’s not like louis doesn’t suck him off at every opportune moment) but then there are warm fingers slipping under the waist of his boxers, louis’s hot palm pressing over his cock and rubbing in slow strokes.

harry exhales hot against louis’s neck, turns his face until their lips meet again, and louis’s hand is slipping lower, cupping his balls, letting the head of harry’s dick press into his forearm as he squeezes because he knows harry loves that; loves the teasing. his little hand wraps around the base of harry’s cock, grips, strokes as the same speed their lips move with. it’s a little dry, but louis’s skin is so soft, and harry’s leaking enough that louis swipes the precome over his cock, slicks it up better.

he bucks his hips a little, fucking into the tight grip of louis’s hand and then louis’s tongue’s in his mouth, legs tight around his waist, and fuck.

“want it. you,” louis pants out against harry’s mouth once their lips have parted. “c’mon, i’m ready,” he begs, voice going a little shrill at the end, and harry loves that; loves louis, desperate.

so he nods, reaches down to shove his pants down his hips and they pool around his feet. he kicks them away, leaning back over louis, mouthing at his chest. he rubs a hand through the tacky come still pooled on louis’s belly, smears it into bronzed skin, reaches up to press two fingers sticky with it between louis’s lips.

“suck,” he instructs, “get ‘em wet,” and louis does. he sucks them, bobs his head up, swirls his tongue and coats them in spit- looks fucking obscene doing it- and then pulls off with a pop. harry shakes his head and blows out though puffed-up cheeks. “gonna be the death of me.”

he presses his hand between louis’s thighs, fingers against his hole, teases around it and slips one in. he’s not wasting any more time.

louis gasps, rolls his hips down, tips his head back against the table. “yeah, yeah…”

and shit. it’s just, he’s so fucking  _tight_ , is the thing. like no matter how long harry spends licking him open, he’s still clenching tight, muscles spasming around harry’s finger, gripping him.

he pulls out a little, presses back in, pulls out, pushes a second finger in and maybe it’s a little too dry but louis fucking moans and grips harry’s forearm and rocks into it and harry thinks he might fucking explode. there’s nothing that gets him hot like how responsive louis is. especially not with something in his arse.

“yeah?” he asks, pressing his free hand against a thigh, pushing it out, fucking his fingers in deeper.

“yeah. yeahyeah,” louis answers, nodding frantically. “another. just. don’t…” his hand feels around on the table by his side, and then he’s thrusting one of the little packs of lube up at harry. “slick me up better. one more. please, please,” and it’s all so desperate that harry just obliges.

“yeah, lou. whatever you need.” and he does. he bites the edge off the foil, squeezes some out against louis’s hole, some on a third finger, and then he’s pulling them out, pressing back in with the wet gel.

everything smells like coconut and sex. and louis. fuck, because he’s still all over harry’s face, his fingers.

louis’s fucking lost all sense of control. he’s riding down against harry’s fingers, one hand still clutching harry’s bicep, the other on his own chest, thumb flicking over his nipple. harry’s mouth is watering. he’s fucking his fingers in and out of louis fast, hard, and louis’s whining and the lube is squelching and harry has to drop a hand to squeeze the base of his dick for relief.

“c’mon, come- harry, come on,” he begs, breathless, eyes opening up and staring straight into harry’s, and yeah. okay.

harry’s biting open another pouch, withdrawing his fingers with this wet, slick, filthy noise. he squeezes lube out over his cock, gets himself good and wet, eyes squeezed shut at the sensation of his hand tight around himself. then he’s lining up and louis’s hooking an ankle around him, pulling him closer and harry’s pushing in slow and steady. or he was. until louis jerks his foot up under his thigh and pulls him in, bottoming him out, and making them both groan loud and long.

“shit,” louis gasps, and harry agrees, repeats it, “shit.”

he’s still for a moment, waiting for louis to adjust a bit (he doesn’t mind the sting, harry knows, but he isn’t into pain). they’re quiet, nothing but the sound of both of them panting until louis stirs his hips a bit, hums softly, nods, and harry pulls out, pushes back in.

_“oh,_ ” louis breathes out, eyelashes fluttering, fingers flexing against his chest, “yeah…”

and oh.  _yeah_. louis’s hot, slick, surrounding him, pulling him in. so harry does that again, just the same way, then again, again, faster. he plants a hand next to louis’s hip on the table, leaning up between spread-open legs, and rolls his hips in quicker with each thrust. louis just takes it, legs loose around harry’s hips, breaths coming shorter, heavier. his lips part slightly,  eyes squeezing closed a bit, and he’s so fucking lovely that it makes harry’s chest ache a little.

“beautiful,” harry whispers, swivelling his hips a little, and it’s apparently the right thing to do because louis cries out a little, reaches for harry, cups a hand over his cheek and tips his head back against the wood under him again.

harry kisses along louis’s throat, licks over his bobbing adam’s apple, sucks a bruise into the hollow of his sharp little collarbones. louis’s gasping underneath him, rolling his hips up to meet harry’s, pushing against each thrust. harry’s gasping too, fucking in long, hard strokes and louis’s so fucking good. he’s good at everything he does, but he’s fucking incredible at sex, no matter how they’re doing it. (harry suspects it’s just because louis’s naturally a sexy person).

louis’s hand clutches at harry’s shirt, pushing it up so their stomachs press together, and harry takes the hint; reaches over his head and tugs the shirt off. he leans down and licks over the nipple that’s exposed, the one that’s all red and hard from louis rubbing it, pulling at it. he can feel louis shudder under him, feel his thighs flex around him, feel his muscles jumping when he swirls his tongue around the hard little nub.

louis whines and harry smirks, gives him a couple of quick, hard thrusts to make him gasp, “fuck, harry!” and then he’s suckling on louis’s sore little nipple, listening to him whimper, feeling the fingers tugging his hair to pull his head back. louis’s nipples are so fucking sensitive, harry knows. (he’s made him come before with a hand gripped tight around the base of his cock and his tongue laving and teasing over one of them)

he pinches it between his teeth, gentle and careful, and flicks it up and down with the tip of his tongue, over and over until louis’s breath is short and forced, hips jerking, and he’s whining, “har- ah! harry, pl- oh, god, i’m. stop _stop_ …” and that’s… yeah. he stops.

he leans back up a little, hands sliding up louis’s thighs, gripping them tight, and manhandles him back to the edge of the table from where he’s slid up. then he stops, thinks for a moment, and hm. he stuffs his balled-up shirt under louis’s hips, raising them up a bit for a different angle, holds his thighs open, and starts to fuck in again deeper, harder.

louis keens in his throat, breath caught, and harry knows he’s found what he’s looking for. and he goes for it, pounding louis into the table, making him arch and stretch and moan and reach for something to hold onto, something to grip. the chair against the wall knocks obnoxiously, and harry’s waiting for louis’s sweet-little-old-lady neighbor to come knock on the door, see if they’re okay. (he spares a second to chuckle at the thought of the look on her face if she could see just how okay they are.)

“is that it, lou? right there?” harry taunts, breathless, and louis looks up at him, fucking wrecked, nods.

 

“don’tstop,  _don’tyoufuckingdare_  stop, shit, bloodyfuck,  _oh_ …”

and harry wouldn’t think of it. he holds louis’s legs apart by his knees and watches where his cock disappears over and over, sinking into louis. he’s all stretched open, all pink and a little swollen and wet. louis’s soft thighs jiggle a little with each push of harry’s hips, and fuck. fuck. (that wasn’t a thing he knew about until he met louis) harry’s thrusts come quicker, sharper. his spine’s tingling, stomach clenching, toes curling against the cheap linoleum floor. there’s sweat rolling down his back, down his forehead, even the backs of his thighs. he knows it’s close, right there, but he’s determined to watch louis come apart before he’ll let himself.

and he does. slow and fucking gorgeous, as always. it’s a few more dirty slaps of skin-against-skin, one last grind and louis’s begging, “oh god, harrycomeon, i’m coming, please,” quick and breathless and that’s the fucking  _hottest_  thing harry’s ever heard.  _ever_. then louis’s clenching around him, so fucking tight that harry gasps. louis’s little hands scrape at the wood of the table, leaving behind little claw marks. his body shudders and he doesn’t even make any noise other than the little gasp of air that punches out of his lungs. he’s coming all over himself again, without even being touched this time, and maybe that’s it.

harry fucks into louis again, again, slamming into his prostate on the third stroke, and louis all but screams, fingers digging into harry’s wrist when his hips finally stutter and he comes. hard; white hot. knocks the air right out of him. leaves him lightheaded, holding himself up over louis, gasping for air.

harry drops his head into the crook of louis’s shoulder, and he’s sweaty too. he’s soft and warm, familiar and sweet smelling and harry thinks he’s in love. thinks he’s in love with louis.

louis’s hands smooth through harry’s hair, over his sweaty back. he makes an uncomfortable little noise, though, and oh.

harry reaches down and pulls out carefully, fingers pressed to louis’s rim to help with the discomfort. it’s messy and strange, harry thinks, no matter how many times they do this. he touches his fingers to the open hole for a moment before louis’s squeaking at him and batting his hand away.

“pervert,” louis breathes, all sleepy and fond.

“you’re fascinating,” harry whispers, kisses louis’s hip; his belly.

“well, i’m also filthy and sticky. highly uncomfortable. but if i get up, i’m going to leak all over my table…” he sighs, perturbed.

harry chuckles a little at that, takes louis’s hand and helps him sit up carefully. “i cooked. you get to clean.”

“too tired to clean,” louis pouts. “too tired to eat.”

harry sighs. he slips back between louis’s knees, dips his head down and kisses louis soft and chaste.

“go shower,” he whispers, hands smoothing up louis’s sides, tugging his dirty shirt up and pulling it off. “i’ll clean up,” he wipes the cold come from louis’s tummy, then from between his thighs. “i’ll fix you a plate and bring it to bed.” he’s a goner.

louis smiles at him, one of those little soft ones that he does when he doesn’t know what to say. “you’re the best,” he whispers back; cups his hands over harry’s cheeks; kisses him.

harry grins and helps louis down. he snaps louis’s bum playfully with the shirt and louis eeps, grabs it and takes it with him as he skitters down the hallway.

  
_yeah,_  harry thinks as he turns to switch the oven off and wet a rag,  _definitely in love._


End file.
